


No Prophecies Involved, Nice or Otherwise

by mithrel



Category: Good Omens, Supernatural
Genre: Blanket Permission, Crossover, Gen, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2010-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley’s not happy that Dean and Sam screwed up at Carthage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Prophecies Involved, Nice or Otherwise

When there was a knock at the motel room door, Dean opened it slowly, his hand on his knife. The last person he expected stood on the doorstep. Or, well, OK, one of the last.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean demanded, glaring at Crowley, instinctively moving in front of Cas, who was standing behind him. “And who’s he?” There was another guy hovering beyond Crowley’s shoulder; Dean could only assume he was a demon, too. Although he’d never met a demon who wore plaid.

“Well, since you morons not only failed to kill Lucifer, so Death was unleashed–”

“Hey!” Dean protested, “It’s not our fault the Colt didn’t work!”

“–but you _also_ let _another_ Horseman show up, it’s clear you won’t get anything done without my help.”

“Hey, we–what?” Dean demanded, as his brain caught up with the conversation. Just then he noticed that Cas was actually _hiding behind him_. Dean angled his body so he could stare without taking his eyes off Crowley. Even with his mojo fading Cas had never been afraid of demons.

About that time Sam wandered over. “Who’s he?”

Crowley looked nettled. “Look, can we come in?”

“Nuh- _uh!_ ” Dean shook his head. “You’re demons! I don’t trust you!”

“My dear boy, I’m not a demon,” the other guy said prissily.

“Yeah? Well no one seems to be answering us on who you are,” Dean snapped.

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, this is Aziraphale.”

Dean blinked. “Azira-who?”

“Aziraphale,” the guy repeated sniffily. “I’m a Principality.”

“A what?”

“An angel, Dean,” Sam put in.

Well, crap. That explained why Cas was freaking out, but… “Why’s an angel hanging around with a demon? Why aren’t you smiting him?”

Principality-dude looked at Crowley indulgently. “We have an Arrangement.”

Dean noted the capital letter. “An arrangement, huh? What kind of arrangement?”

“It’s complicated,” Crowley mumbled, looking horribly uncomfortable.

Dean snorted. “I guess. But listen, you,” Dean said, rounding on…what the hell was his name? Ass-refill? Fuck it, he’d just call him Zeke. “I don’t care what or who you are, you’re not touching Cas!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

“My dear boy, why on Earth should I want to? He’s part of the family, and I bear him no animus.”

“Why do you talk like someone in a Jane Austen novel?” Dean blurted before he thought.

“You read _Jane Austen?_ ” Sam squawked.

“Shutup,” Dean mumbled, flushing, “Cassie made me read Sense and Sensibility. _Once!_ ”

Sam snorted disbelievingly.

“You must be seriously outta the loop,” Dean told Zeke. “Cas pissed off Zachariah and now he’s on Heaven’s Most Wanted list.”

“Oh. Zachariah.” The angel sniffed. “Jumped-up little toad.”

Sam grinned, and Dean found himself hard-pressed to keep from joining him. “Not the words I’d use, but it’s a start.”

“We hadn’t heard from our superiors in six thousand years before the Apocalypse,” Crowley put in. “After that they just decided to ignore us.”

“Wait, _after_ the Apocalypse?” Sam demanded. “It’s still going on!”

“No, no,” Crowley waved a hand. “Not _this_ Apocalypse. Happened back in the nineties, mainly in England. Horsemen, Antichrist, the whole shebang.”

“There was an Apocalypse _before?_ ” Dean blurted out.

“Yeah. We stopped it, not that that was a picnic. My car burned up, for one thing.”

The three of them stared at him.

“So you can see why I was a bit upset when you went and started another one. Now I have to fix the world all over again, and I’m a demon, that’s not my bloody job!”

Dean stared doubtfully at the dumpy angel in the plaid suit. “What can he do anyway?”

Zeke coughed. “Erm…well, I’ve got this,” and he took out a sword from somewhere, damned if Dean knew where. Thing was bigger than he was.

“It’s a sword,” Dean said.

“Way to spot the obvious, Einstein,” Crowley snorted.

“Not just any sword. The flaming sword that guarded Eden.”

 _Flaming something anyway,_ Dean thought.

“Not that that did much good,” Crowley cut across his thoughts.

“Oh, do shut up Crowley, there’s a good fellow.”

“So, he’s got a sword. What about you?” Dean asked Crowley.

Crowley looked offended. “Found the Colt, didn’t I? I _know_ people!”

“But why would you even want to help us?” Sam asked, before Dean could.

“I _like_ this world. You’ve got television and alcohol and sushi restaurants.”

Dean sighed. “I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna regret this, but we need all the help we can get.”


End file.
